Fledgeling
by attackamazon
Summary: Valdis' life was hard before arriving in Skyrim, but her first days in her parents' homeland are enough to make her want to run back to Cyrodiil.  Will she stop running from her problems and embrace her destiny?  And if she does, who will stand with her?
1. Rock Bottom

_The genesis of this story comes from the fact that I totally wanted my character to marry Brynjolf only that's apparently not an option in the game. /3 I ended up marrying Balimund the smith instead. Which, if you think about it, is clearly the sane choice. Sexy bad boy tease or not so sexy but quite industrious provider type? The eternal question in video game form. Aside from that, I also got to thinking about what the intro to Skyrim would actually seem like from a real person's perspective. My analysis: freaking terrifying. I also have lately gotten interested in the "reluctant hero" type of character. So, my game character, upon reaching Whiterun and being attacked by a dragon that's not supposed to exist for the second time and being told "Hey, some people on a mountain want to talk to you because you're this thing called a Dragonborn perhaps." said "Sure." and then promptly kept right on walking past Ivarstead, eventually winding up in Riften and starting off a whole other chain of events just to avoid having to go climb the mountain of scary shouting dragon monks. _

_So, that is the inspiration for my story. There will be adventure, romance, and likely some light fluff later on. There will be major spoilers, so if you care about that sort of thing, you may want to play through the entire Thieves' Guild set first. I have played a little fast and loose with the real game timeline in some spots. The invisible plot bunnies insisted. Enjoy! And please leave feedback. I love hearing about the things that people enjoy in my stories._

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><p>No matter how far you sink, there is always further down to go. Her brother's words wandered once more through Valdis' weary mind as she slogged up the muddy road towards city walls ahead. A light drizzle soaked her clothes and speckled her face, strengthening the deep chill that had set into her bones since she had arrived in Skyrim…what, three days ago now? Five? How long had she been walking in this living nightmare of dragons and executions and strangers who she had been told since birth were her true "kinsmen" but who were as foreign to her now as the cat-faced Khajit?<p>

Her brother would have fared better, she knew. He had been born here, had memories of kin and custom to guide him, whereas she, alone among her family, had lived her entire life in the warm Imperial south. It had been a mistake to come here without him, but there had been little choice, little time to decide, and life in exile was always better than death. There was always further down to go, if you could cheat the grave long enough.

Rousing herself from her exhausted stupor, she realized that she was nearly at the city gates. It was, she guessed, perhaps the middle of the afternoon, the guards at their posts, but the gates were closed. She struggled to process what this meant and what to do about it, when it dawned upon her that the guards were not looking at her. Each of them, including the archers on the walls, were looking upwards, turning and craning their necks as best they could with their helmets on to search the grey and dripping sky.

"What was that?" one of them asked the others, as they stepped further out on the road, "That sound?"

"Thunder?" another asked, and a third shook his head.

"I've never heard thunder sound like that before."

Valdis stared stupidly at them for a moment, until the sound repeated itself. A long, sharp roar, rising slightly in pitch, that echoed through the thick air and across the tops of the trees and then sounded again, closer and clearer this time. By the time the terrible head became visible through the clouds, the blood-chilling clap of enormous wings audible, she had no doubt what the answer to the guard's question was.

"Oh, no." she gasped, dread shooting through her veins and galvanizing her into action despite her weariness. She turned and pelted off of the road towards a nearby farm house, leaving the guards to scramble in a panic behind her.

~~0~~

The first attack hit behind her with the sound of swooping wings, fire, shouting guards, and a screaming roar that shook the very water droplets in the air. Valdis interrupted her sprint to dart suddenly sideways, flinging herself through the trees as the air sucked and whirled around her from the beat of the dragon's wings and a crackling column of flame obliterated the ground where she had stood seconds before. She tripped and scrambled up, panting, as covered the ground between her and the farmhouse and flattening herself again the wall.

Chaos reigned around her. She could hear the shouts of the guards, the terrified sounds of farm animals, the screams of farmers and other bystanders, and behind it all the furious bellowing of the monster. _No, no, no, I killed you already_, she thought, trying to swallow her panic, _I saw your bones, I...how can this be happening?_ But as she felt the earth-shaking impact of the dragon landing nearby, she knew that it was happening, it was not a dream. It was a dragon, and it was coming for _her_.

She turned and started to climb, fitting her fingers into the cracks of the log house as she scaled the wall up to the thatched roof. The scene on the other side house was gruesome. The dragon thrashed as a handful of guards assailed it. She crawled onto the roof in time to see the beast snatch one of the guards in its mouth and toss him like a child's toy, before rearing its head back and blasting the others with a hellish spray of fire. Arrows, shot by the guards on the walls, pinged off of its scales, shooting sparks and doing nothing to stop the creature. Dragons were not supposed to exist…how could they know where its weak spots were, unless, like her, they had fought one before?

If the dragon somehow tracked her here…and it was too unlikely that a dragon would attack her in two separate locations days apart if it was not after her specifically…it would find her again. It would not matter where she went, it would follow her, and a lot more people would die in the process. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the bow from her shoulder and fitted and arrow into it, and belly-crawled up the thatch to the point of the roof, setting herself up for the draw, and taking careful aim.

The first arrow arrow missed, splinting like so much matchwood, but the second found its mark between the scales on the softer flesh of the dragon's should joint. The creature roared and whirled, flattening several guardsmen with its tail. Her third arrow buried itself in the other shoulder, and the beast began to lumber towards her. She scrambled up as it reared its head back, preparing to burn her to a crisp and, with ease born of complete fatalism, she dropped her bow and ran, letting the slope of the roof gather momentum for her, before she jumped straight for the dragon's head.

The monster's neck and head straightened out as it's burning breath turned the roof of the farmhouse into an inferno, creating an almost flat spot between its eyes. She landed hard, snapping its mouth closed with the force, but her knee buckled painfully under her and she bit down on her own lip so hard she tasted blood. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on the pitching scaled body beneath her, scraping and slashing her palm, as she struggled. Finally, she managed to right herself on the creature's neck, clamping down hard with her thighs as she pulled her short sword and rammed it down with as much force as she could muster. Once, twice, and then she felt the blade find the soft spot of the eye and sink in up to the hilt. The dragon thrashed violently, and, covered in its thick, hot blood, lost her grip and flew through the air, impacting the ground with a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to shoot through her entire body. A few seconds later, there was a loud crash, and then…nothing.

Exhausted, covered in blood, and hurting from a dozen points, she rolled onto her back and raised herself up in time to see the dragon's body shiver, crackle, and begin to glow. _Not again_, she thought, shuddering, as the golden light rushed from the rapidly dissolving corpse and into her. Her blood thrummed in her veins, her heart pounded, and she cried out from equal amounts of pain, frustration, and the sheer exultation of power.

Minutes later there were footsteps and voices nearby. She wanted to call out to them, but the best she could manage was a strangled groan. Her vision seemed to pulse with her heartbeat, the edges growing strangely white and opaque, like dense fog, and she felt strangely light, as if she were back in Cyrodiil, swimming with her brother in the canals and floating on the surface as she stared up into the blue sky…

"By the Eight…" a man's voice panted nearby, "Over here!"

Bodies swarmed around her, the clank of armor, the sharp tang of male sweat and fear.

"Don't pull it out, she'll start bleeding." someone said.

A face loomed over her, blonde hair, a thick beard, and blue eyes.

"Just be still. It's going to be alright." He said.

"No…" she croaked, but could not finish the thought. _It won't be alright. It hasn't been alright for a long time before this, why would that change now?_

Strong hands lifted her up, carrying her back towards the gates as it started to rain again, a torrential downpour that painted long streaks of bloody rainwater on her skin. Someone's hand was clasped her in hers, and she closed her eyes and imagined that she was in a different place. It was warm, deliciously warm, and the rain was falling on canals and terracotta rooves. She was playing at being a swordsman with her brother, not as she had last seen him, but the way he was before everything changed. Her father was working in the smithy and she could hear the rhythmic ring of metal on metal nearby, the sound of home.

When she woke, it was to that same sound, the clang and hiss of a working forge somewhere nearby, and she was in a bedroom. Not the one from her childhood, but a room with wattle and daub walls and furniture of rough cut timber and furs pulled up around her on the bed. For a moment, she lay still, wondering if she was still dreaming, but the aching throb in her ribs was proof enough to remind her of the battle with the dragon. She was alive, and while she did not know yet whether she was disappointed or grateful, she guessed that either way she would soon have some explaining to do.


	2. First Impressions

Her body rebelled against standing, but Valdis gritted her teeth and forced herself up despite the abominable ache in her left side. Her knee throbbed, and she could not quite extend it all the way. That was bad. Survival too often came down to being quick or dead. It was obvious someone had tended to her, but there was no telling what waited beyond the bedroom door and facing it in less than top condition was worrisome.

She limped to the dresser across from the bed, upon which someone had placed her pack, boots, and swordbelt. Her sword was not there…another jolt of panic until the memory of the fight with the dragon flashed back to her mind. She had lost her grip on it after plunging it into the monster's eye. It must still be out there somewhere. Her clothes were not in evidence either, but someone had draped an oversized man's tunic over her for decency. A quick rifle through the drawers turned up a pair of trousers of an equally ludicrous size compared to her, but they were better than nothing.

Finally, using the furniture and the walls for balance, she limped out of the bedroom and surveyed her surroundings. The house beyond seemed relatively spacious by what she had observed so far in Skyrim. There was a low fire burning in the hearth, and she could see other rooms beyond as well as stairs that likely led down to a cellar. It was tidy, everything in its place…but it was very plainly a man's dwelling, nothing soft or decorative to indicate a feminine presence. The light outside the windows was golden and muted…morning or afternoon? She could not tell.

As there was no one immediately in evidence, she stood there, blinking in the main living space and considering what her next move should be when the door swung inward, shouldered open by a young man roughly her age. He had a nearly shaved head and a braided beard, and his skin was coated in sweat and soot. There was a heavy stack of what looked like freshly stretched and dried hides slung over his shoulder. She froze, staring, and he paused when he saw her.

"Gave me a start." He panted, shifting the hides to a more comfortable position as he leaned back out the door, "Boss. Girl's awake."

She shifted uneasily, as the man moved past her towards the stairs, grunting as he wrestled the leathers down. A moment later, another man, older but equally as dirty, appeared at the door, clad in a smith's apron and wiping his hands with a filthy cloth. He was a big, broad shouldered and tall, and he studied her with an appraising expression, raising one bushy blonde eyebrow, as he stepped into the house.

"So, you're up." he said finally, "Healer from the temple said you might be out for another day or so."

Valdis could hear the blood thrumming through her temples, though she was no longer sure if it was from nerves or the exertion of moving her stiff body, but the man did not seem threatening and the tone of his voice was civil, if a little guarded. She tried to relax and straighten, wincing as her side throbbed.

"Where am I?"

"The Scorched Hammer. In Riften." He said, adding, "Temple was full up with the wounded after that business with the dragon. Saw what you did on the road, and thought you deserved somewhere quieter to heal up away from all the fuss."

"Thank you." She said. There was an uncomfortable silence, and the smith stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Balimund."

Hesitantly, she shifted her weight and awkwardly clasped his forearm as she had seen others do in Whiterun.

"Valdis."

He grunted, and stepped back.

"Healer said there was nothing wrong with you that wouldn't mend. You can stay till you're back on your feet."

"I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome." She said, trying to remember anything she could from her parents on courtesy in Skyrim. Nords had a peculiar sense of manners, she remembered someone saying, and she did not want to offend her host.

"Nonsense." He scoffed, gruffly, and turned as the younger man emerged from the stairwell again, "Boy. Get that dinner started. I'll finish up outside."

The younger man, obviously an apprentice, for he looked nothing like the smith, nodded and, with a sigh, trooped back down the stairs. The smith turned back to her and nodded to a chair by the fire.

"Rest that leg. No sense in overdoing it. We can talk more later."

And with that, he left. After a moment, blinking at the empty door and the room around her, she settled, wincing, onto the indicated chair. She felt desperately uncomfortable in these surroundings. A stranger in a strange place trying to navigate foreign customs. But, she could hardly set out on her own like she was. She would have to accept the smith's hospitality for a day or two more, it seemed. What she would do after that…well, she would work that out later.

~~0~~

The evening proceeded in an equally awkward fashion. True to her observation, there were no women in the household, just the smith and the apprentice, whose name turned out to be Asbjorn. He refused her offer to help with the food.

"More than my job's worth, if the boss catches me letting an invalid cook her own meal." He said, and grinned at her. As the light faded outside, Balimund returned to the house, splashed water on his face from the washbowl, and sat down with a grunt across the living space from her, as the apprentice fished the baking potatoes and leeks off the hearth and portioned them out.

"So," Asbjorn started, curiously, once they all had a plate, "what brings you to Riften, dragonslayer?"

She winced at the sobriquet, and stared at her food. She never wanted to hear anything more about dragons again, and it seemed she was destined to be plagued by them now wherever she went. The attention of being a dragon-slayer or a Dragonborn or whatever the soldiers in Whiterun had called her was the absolute last thing she needed right now, never mind questions about her life. She could make that up as necessary. Before she could respond, though, the smith interrupted.

"You get those nails cut for the Black-briars?" he rumbled, looking up from his meal to fix a warning look on his apprentice

"I'll finish them up in the morning." The younger man replied, taking the hint.

"Do that. High folk don't like to be kept waiting for their deliveries." The smith replied, taking another bite of his potatoes, before turning his gaze up to Valdis. He gestured at her plate, "Eat up. Not as fine as what you're used to in Cyrodiil, but you need it."

"How did you know I was…" she started, and then it dawned on her, "My accent. Is it that easy to recognize?"

"It's not what you'd expect of a Nord, I'll say that." He grunted, but she thought she caught the edge of a smile before he shook his head, "Don't worry about it, girl. People in this town got better sense than to go asking questions that's none of their concern." He shifted his eyes towards the apprentice, "Mostly."

The meal finished in relative silence. Eventually the smith stood, set his plate aside, and stretched.

"Early to bed then. Lots of work to be done in the morning." He held out a hand to her, "You, too. Healer will be by to take a look at you and the Jarl wants a word when you're walking."

She accepted the hand up, and gave him a tight lipped smile as she limped toward the room she had been in earlier.

"Thank you." She said, pausing at the door, and he waved her off.

"Common courtesy. You'd do the same, no doubt." Balimund said, and then she heard only the sound of his heavy boots as he disappeared into the back of the house.


	3. A Handsome Face

"You've healed quickly." The priestess said, approvingly, the following morning. Valdis sat still as she rose, folding the bandages that had strapped her ribs, "Mara lends you her favor."

"Will my knee…"

"The potions have healed any permanent damage, but the body still needs time to recover." The dark elf woman replied, "You will walk without pain in a few days, I believe I can safely promise you that. But I've treated enough fighting men in my time to know that you'll be on that leg whether I tell you to rest it or not, so go gently and you'll do well enough."

Valdis nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. A few days was better than being crippled. A few days and she could try find somewhere to disappear away from this dragon business.

"Thank you. I will."

"Now, I've been told that you have an audience with our esteemed Jarl. I will be happy to walk you to the keep, since you are new to our city. I know I found it daunting when I first arrived.

"I…" Valdis started to object, and then thought better of it. The less time she spent around others here, the better, but she could hardly refuse the priestess' offer without seeming suspicious, nor could she refuse a summons from the Jarl without attracting attention. Damn it all, "Thank you, that's good of your."

The priestess smiled benevolently. Valdis pulled her tunic down and resituated her sword belt before following the dark elf out into the late morning sunshine. The sky was clear blue, only a few wispy horse-tails of clouds here and there, and the chill of the last few days had lifted a little. It was the first time she had been outside since waking, and so she took in her first sight of the city with some interest. Riften appeared to be laid out in a roughly circular pattern, the market occupying a large central area across the road from the smithy. Balimund and Asbjorn were working nearby, both bent over the anvil, discussing the fit of a breastplate. The smith's eyes flicked up at her briefly, and she gave him a weak half-smile before turning back to hobble after her guide.

~0~

"You are now in the presence of Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften." A huge man said, as she approached the high seat in the center of the keep. It was not as spacious as the Jarl's hall at Whiterun, nor did the woman seated on the throne seem as formidable, but then she had been exhausted and more than a little distracted by other concerns recently so perhaps it was a trick of the memory. Uncertainly, she bowed slightly, her eyes flicking from the Jarl to the yellow-skinned Bosmer who appeared to be her steward. The Bosmer raised an appraising eyebrow, and Valdis had the sensation that she had already been found wanting.

"Allow me to personally welcome to Riften." The Jarl said, "I have been looking forward to meeting the woman who saved the lives of so many of my people. I trust that you have been sufficiently tended to?"

"Yes…I've been looked after well enough." Valdis replied, wishing with all her being that the interview would be over soon. She was not cut out for this.

"Dinya Balu indicated that our dragon slayer would make a full recovery." The Bosmer stated, matter of factly.

"Excellent." The Jarl said, smiling, "I would like to reward you for your service. My steward will see that you are compensated for your brave actions. Will you be remaining with us long?"

"I'm afraid not." She replied, guardedly, trying to come up with an excuse, but the Jarl did not seem to require one.

"Unfortunate. Nevertheless, if you should change your mind, Riften would certainly welcome you as a citizen. I am certain Anuriel would be pleased to assist you with finding lodgings."

By the look on the Bosmer's face, Valdis was certain that Anuriel would not be pleased, but nevertheless. Press on.

"Thank you."

And with that, her audience seemed to be over. The Jarl rose, closing pleasantries were exchanged, and the ruler of Riften disappeared into the corridors at the back of the hall, while the steward remained. The Bosmer snapped her fingers at a boy, a page, nearby, who retrieved a leather pouch from a nearby sideboard and brought it to Valdis.

"For your service, Nord." She said, precisely, and then added wryly, "Spend it in good health."

Valdis watched her swish away after her mistress, and tested the weight of the pouch in her hand, listening to the distinct rustle of coin inside. If she had to guess from the weight, there might be a few hundred septims inside. Enough to survive on for a few weeks if she was careful, enough to buy a new sword and some clothes, but still not the kind of money she needed to disappear on. Curse those Legion bastards. When she had arrived in Skyrim she had had enough coin on her to make a decent start somewhere, and now here she was again, trying to claw her way back up from nothing with just the clothes on her back. Sighing, she secured the pouch to her belt and limped back towards the entrance of the keep to continue the process of putting her life back together elsewhere.

~0~

The weather was fine, the midday sun was starting to warm the chill in her bones, and she felt like she had been sitting still for an age, so she walked. The city was beautiful, but there was a quality to it that Valdis could not adequately describe. It was an uneasy feeling, as if the city were holding its breath somehow, waiting for release. Cities were like people. They had their own personalities, their own character, their modds. When she had lived in the Imperial City, she would walk for hours sometimes, gauging the mood of the streets from the way that people moved around and looked at each other, the feel of the cobbles beneath her feet, the intangible signs and symbols that were hidden to almost everyone, but which a good thief could read like a book. What Riften was hiding was hard to say, but she could feel it through her skin and through the soles of her boots and she could not help but be curious.

Eventually, she found herself back at the market circle. The merchants were doing brisk business, and she paid as much attention to the people as the wares as she moved around the perimeter. As she passed, her eyes landed by chance on a man selling potions from a small stall and riveted there. He was tall, well-shaped, with long brown hair and rakishly handsome features, and looking at him plucked a small chord of desire in the core of her body. How long had it been since she had had the leisure to sit and watch handsome men go by on the street? Longer than she could remember. While she studied him, considering this, he turned and caught her staring. He grinned and winked at her, and she was surprised to feel her face redden as warmth spread through her. Blushing? When was the last time she had blushed? She considered stopping to speak to him, but while she could see interest in his eyes, there were other expression, a sense that he was judging, calculating. And so, she demurred, turning towards the blacksmith's shop. The potion-seller's gaze burned between her shoulder blades as she retreated, feeling not a little bit foolish for letting a handsome face distract her so thoroughly.

~0~

"So, the dragon-slayer returns." Asbjorn said, spotting her first, as he bent over the grinder's wheel. Balimund hefted a long metal rod from the fire and glanced up at her as he clamped it down onto the forge, "How did it go at the keep?"

"Nothing exciting." Valdis replied. Her knee was beginning to ache with exertion, but she was not ready to give up just yet, so she moved carefully over to watch Balimund for a moment. The metal still glowed white-hot as he brought the hammer down on it, the sound ringing against the stones of the house and the cobbles with a sound that was deeply familiar to her. Something was odd, though.

"How do you keep it malleable for so long?" she asked, genuinely puzzled, as the smith shaped the bar, "It's been minutes now. I've never seen metal stay white this long in the air."

The smith gave the car one last pound and then pivoted to put it back in the fire.

"You know something about the business?" he asked, wiping a hand across his forehead, as he sweated in the heat from the forge.

"My father was a smith." She admitted, without thinking, and gaped in surprise at the steel bar as it reddened in the fire all too quickly, "I've never seen steel heat so fast."

"Some say it's a miracle. Or magic." Balimund replied, unable to conceal the pride of a master craftsman in his tone, "The truth is in the coals. Fire salts burn with the fury of Red Mountain. Mix them with the fuel and, in the right amounts, you can work steel in a day that it would take a regular forge weeks to produce."

"That's amazing." She exclaimed, considering the implications of it. Balimund turned the flattened steel rod and grunted.

"Only forge of its kind." He said, and she thought she detected a wistful note in the words, but could not be sure. He pulled the steel from the fire once more and moved it to the anvil. She watched as he worked, lengthening the bar and then turning it, expertly starting to fold what she realized would probably become a blade. When the metal had cooled again and he placed it back on the coals, he looked back up at her.

"Go on inside and rest. You've probably had about enough for your first day out."

"I've been sitting idle too long. Need something to keep my hands busy, keep from getting twitchy." She said, and looked around, "Anything I can help with?"

"What can you do?" he asked, skeptically.

"My father said I was as good as any second year apprentice." She said, and the smith stroked the stubble on his jaw, considering. A moment later, he nodded to a workbench nearby.

"There's some leathers there. You can cut them for straps, for a start. Three fingers wide."

She smiled and limped over, wincing as she took a seat at the work bench and getting the feel for the weight of the knife and shears. As she began to mark the leather, scratching the surface just enough to mark out where the cuts should be, she heard Balimund start to work again behind her and let the music of the forge and the routine of cutting the leather fill her mind for awhile. By the time she was finished, the sun starting to set over the city walls, she was exhausted and sweaty, but she felt strangely better. Her problems still remained...where to go, where to get the money to go there...but she would find a way. She always survived, always found a way. And, with luck, she would do it again.


	4. The Bad Old Days Are Here Again

"Not bad." Balimund said, the following day, as he looked over a studded leather breastplate she had been working on all morning. She had cut and affixed the metal studs herself, riveted the straps and the adjoining pauldron segments in place, and waxed the leather until it was stiff and durable enough to withstand the abuse its future owner would inflict on it. The smith set the piece aside, and turned his appraising eye on her, "It's apprentice work, to be sure, but you have skill."

"It's been years since I've held an awl and hammer." Valdis said with a shrug, "I'm surprised I remember."

"The trade never really leaves you." He replied, and then paused, his brow furrowing in thought before continuing, "I could use another person for the light work around the shop. Asbjorn has trained to the point now where he needs to take on more of the heavy smithing and, with that business with the Stormcloaks heating up, we have more work than we can handle. I can pay you a fair wage, give you room and board."

"I wasn't planning to stay in Riften…" She began, awkwardly. _Though, I don't know where else I would go_. Her father's family lived near Windhelm somewhere, and Valdis supposed that when she had struck out for Skyrim she had intended to find them. Even so, they hardly seemed like family. She had never seen any of them, knew them only from her father's stories. And what would they make of her, the southern-born daughter of a brother or uncle they had not seen in twenty years? They might take her in, but she could not imagine it would be gladly. And beyond that, she did not yet have the gold to buy herself a new life elsewhere. She sighed, "But, I admit I don't really have a better plan at the moment."

"That's settled then." He nodded, "We'll work out the details at dinner. For now, I've got some repairs you can work on."

Valdis nodded and followed him back over to the workbench, feeling both relieved to have some sort of a plan and inexplicably anxious at the same time.

~~0~~

The morning was cloudy and the wind brisk, just as it had been on the day of the dragon attack, as Valdis made her way through the market circle, scanning for the fresh produce stand. Her leg was doing much better after a couple of days of rest and light exercise, and, though running was not quite within reach yet, she no longer walked with a limp. With her mobility restored, Balimund had sent her out with a list of small deliveries and errands to run. Nails for the Black-Briar estate, a set of new torch sconces for the temple, a list of desired metals to be ordered through the general goods store, and a sack of potatoes and other vegetables from the market. With the chill in the air, business looked slow, and the merchants seemed bored and cranky. Still, she might be able to talk the price down an extra coin or two on a slow day, so she took her time, looking through the wares and waiting for the right time to buy.

"Never done an honest day's work for all that coin you're carrying, eh, lass?" a male voice, the Breton accent as smooth as honey, said quietly beside her. She did not turn immediately, but her other senses kicked into high gear, listening, feeling the way the air moved around her to determine where she was and how to get away if she needed to.

"I'm sorry, were you speaking to me?" she said, after a moment, glancing up from the fruits and vegetables she was inspecting. It was the man who had been selling potions when she had come through the market before and he had the same crafty glint in his eyes that she had seen last time.

"Do you see any other thieves in the area?" he asked, and her eyes flicked quickly to the owner of the stall. The woman had a book in hand and did not appear to be keeping a close watch on her two customers. The potion-seller did not seem likely to give up, though, so Valdis quickly stepped away from the stall towards the central well and squared her shoulders as he followed, fixing him with a shrewd, stony gaze.

"What would you know about it?"

"It's all about sizing up your mark." He replied, calmly, smiling, "The way they move, the way they think. People tell you more about themselves with their bodies than they ever do with their tongues."

"I don't know who you are," she replied, dropping her tone lower, almost to a growl, as she moved a step closer, "But my coin and where I get it is none of your business."

"Ah, well, that's where you're wrong." He grinned, "Wealth _is_ my business. And, as it happens, I've got an errand you could help me with."

"Oh, no. I don't do that anymore."

"Don't fool yourself, lass." he replied, raising a humorous eyebrow, "Besides, extra hands are paid well for the sort of errands I do, as I'm sure you know. Much better than a smith's assistant."

She stared hard at him for a moment. One the one hand, she had left that life behind her in Cyrodiil. It bothered her that this man had so easily pegged her for what she was…what she had been, anyway. On the other hand, she couldn't deny he was right. Balimund had cut her a good deal, but it would take her months to save up enough to, comfortably, leave Riften. A few odd, less than legal jobs and she could set herself up comfortably anywhere she wanted to within a few weeks.

"What's the job?"

"A simple setup. You see that Argonian over there?" the man said, and nodded almost imperceptibly towards the jewel-seller at a nearby stall. She nodded, "I'll set up a distraction, and you'll steal a silver ring from the strongbox under his stall. Then, you'll plant it on that dark elf over there."

Valdis followed his gaze to the other merchant, a relatively unassuming elf, harmless looking. The poor sod.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"I want to know what kind of man I'm working with." She replied, and he shrugged slightly.

"Brand-shei's been causing trouble for some clients of mine. Clients that don't take kindly to that sort of thing. Don't worry, lass, he won't be harmed. So long as he doesn't resist arrest. He'll serve out a week or two in the jail, pay a fine, and, if he's smart, leave town and take his business and his curiosity elsewhere."

It was a simple enough job, but risky. A quick, furtive glance around the square revealed that there were few enough guards on duty, so there was a good chance she could get away with it and be quite a bit closer to her ultimate goal.

"I'll need a lockpick." She said, finally, and the man smiled, knowingly, as if he'd suspected she would accept this whole time. He produced a slender pick from a pouch at his belt and reached out to clasp her hand, slipping it to her.

"We have a deal, then. I'll set up the distraction, as soon as I have everyone's attention, you do your magic, and we'll both be richer by the end of the day."

His skin was warm against hers, and she felt a strange tingling sensation move up her body at the touch, her mind suddenly unable to focus on anything but his closeness, and his shining sea-blue eyes. She snapped herself back to reality, and nodded, stepping back, awkwardly. He turned and moved back towards his market stall, leaving her there, waiting.

"Everyone, please, come quickly…" she heard his voice call out a few minutes later.

"What is Brynjolf on about now?" the vegetable seller muttered as she put down her book and craned her neck to see through the crowd that was already starting to form. The woman sighed, and left her stall, trudging over to see what the fuss was all about. Valdis did a quick scan around the market, looking for anyone who might not have taken interested in the ruse, and then moved quickly.

The jeweler's stall was entirely unguarded. Whatever Brynjolf was doing, even the guards were distracted. She dropped down out of sight and quickly slid the latticed back of the stall open, revealing the cast iron strongbox. For a moment, she wondered if she had lost her touch over the last month of travel, but as she deftly inserted the pick and felt for the tumblers for a moment, she heard the satisfying click of the lock that told her she was still as good as she had ever been. She could feel the thrill of the scam, sweet and addictive, pumping through her veins along with her pulse and she realized to her chagrin that she had missed this feeling. It had kept her sharp over the last few years, made her feel alive when she otherwise might have wished she was dead.

There was gold in strongbox already, and a few expensive jewels. She was tempted, but this was supposed to be a setup job, not a robbery. Quickly, she slipped the ring loosely onto the second join of her ring finger, closed the box, and moved away. No one had seen her, or at least there was no indication that anyone had. She meandered towards the crowd of people gathered around the potion stall.

"And so you see that…." Brynjolf was saying, but she hardly focused on the words. Her sharp eyes picked out the dark elf mark she had been given and she sidled up behind and beside him, pretending to be interested in the speech as she softly loosed the strings on the elf's belt pouch enough to drop the ring into it. With that done, she caught Brynjolf's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly, and moved away back towards the vegetable seller's stall.

"Well, that was a complete waste of time." The owner groused as she returned a moment later, "That Brynjolf…not an ounce of sense in that pretty head of his."

"I'll take these." Valdis told her, indicating the vegetables she had been sent to retrieve. The stall-keeper loaded the produce into the basket Valdis had brought with her and took her coin.

"Come back soon. I'll have fresh cabbages in from the farms in a few days." The old woman said, and Valdis nodded. As she was making her way back towards the main road, she had to pass by Brand-shei's stall. A guard was just approaching and she kept her eyes firmly on the road in front of her, even as she overheard the conversation that was just starting.

"I don't know anything about a ring." The dark elf said, sounding confused.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." The guard said, "But we'll need you to empty out your pouches anyway."

"What…what is this? I swear I have no idea how…"

"That's Madesi's ring, as described." The guard replied, grimly, "Brand-Shei, you're under arrest. I'll need you to come with me…"

In the core of her being, she felt a twinge of guilt, but she did not look back. The dark elf had gotten in over his head and was suffering the consequences. Whether he deserved it or not…well, that was none of her business. She'd done her part of the job.

"Good work." The potion seller…Brynjolf…said, as she passed his stall. She stepped over to give off the appearance of surveying his wares. He tossed a small pouch down onto the planks and she collected it, "A hundred septim. You earned it."

She nodded and started to go when he stepped after her.

"Valdis."

She turned and fixed him with the sort of glare normally seen on a threatened cat. So, he already knew her name and where she was staying. What else did he know about her?

"I've got other work, if you're interested."

"I'm not." She said, coldly, and he smiled.

"Not now, but you will be. This isn't the time or place, though. Meet me in the Ragged Flagon. A clever lass like you will have no trouble finding it."

She turned without comment and stalked away. His coins were heavy in her pouch. They reminded her of things she did not want to think about any more, but they also reminded her of how much she had made for barely ten minutes of work, compared to a day in the smith's shop. And, try as she might, she could not get that out of her head.

~~0~~

"You're back." Asbjorn said, as she carried her basket into the house. He set down the crate of iron ingots he was dragging up from the cellar and leaned against the door jamb for a moment, panting, as she went about putting the produce up in the appropriate cupboards, "What was that crowd in the market? I couldn't hear what was going on."

"Just some fool selling his snake-oil." She replied, but even as she said it, the words felt heavy and ashen in her mouth. For the first time in years, she had honest work to do. She could get free of the old life, escape her brother's fate. So, why could she not just forget about Brynjolf's offer? She put the last of the potatoes away and listened to the ring of the hammer outside. A couple of gold septim a day. A handful a week. Time measured out in money. Could she afford that much time? She was a passable smith's apprentice, but she was an excellent thief. It was her trade, as much as anything was. If Brynjolf had already been able to find out what her name was, then she guessed there were others who knew it. And how long before word of a bounty on an escaped prisoner of her description came to town?

"Asbjorn." She said, turning then, "Have you heard of a place called the Ragged Flagon?"


	5. Taking Care of Business

_Apologies for how long it's taken me to get back to this story. Writers Block + RL intrusion makes for a bad time. Thank you very much for the kind feedback and the adds. This chapter is a bit short, but I plan to update a bit more often after this. Enjoy!_

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><p>The air in the Flagon was dank, humid, with a faint, marshy smell that she did not even want to identify rising up from the circular cistern at its center. Across the way, she could see a platform constructed of wooden planks, lantern light casting crazy shadows on the walls and silhouetting figures against the glow. There was a guard at the entrance, eying her suspiciously, and she stormed up to him, sheathing the sword she had confiscated off of the first man that had attacked her that evening.<p>

"I'm looking for Brynjolf." She told him, tersely. She had expected to spend a few hours searching the sewer for the tavern. She had not expected to have to kill three men in the process. They deserved it, they would have murdered her without a thought, but killing always put her in bad humor. The man glowered at her, but then glanced over his shoulder and gestured.

"Over there by the bar." He growled, and narrowed his eyes, "If you're looking for trouble in here, and you'll get more than you can handle."

"I doubt it." She snapped back and pressed past him. It was not a good beginning, but she was in no mood to be pleasant. She had intended to come down here and hear the rogue-merchant out about his jobs. Now, she just wanted to tell him off and storm out.

"It'll be good for the guild. This one is the real thing." She heard a familiar voice saying as she rounded the corner. The patrons of the Flagon were a seedy, shady lot. She had spent far too much time around similar folk in Cyrodiil, and it made her shudder internally at the recollection of the old life that had brought her here.

Brynjolf was leaning on the bar, talking to a few others. The barman was polishing a glass, and he shook his head.

"Give it up, Brynjolf. Those days are over and done with. Thieves like that don't exist anymore."

"What would you call that, then?" Brynjolf said, grinning, as he gestured to where Valdis stood. She felt her blood heat instantly underneath her skin as all those sets of eyes turned on her, and unconsciously backed up a step. Brynjolf stood and strode over to her, all roguish smiles, and spread his hands. She looked away, hating the electric thrill that that smile always seemed to send up her spine.

"You made it. I was beginning to wonder if you'd show." He said. She started to say something sharp in reply, but her mind had gone blank and she couldn't remember any of the crushing harangues she had been planning to deliver.

"You could have warned me about those murders in the tunnels at least." She said, reproachfully, lamely, trying and failing to build back up to her head of steam again.

"We hardly ever use that exit these days." He said, "It's a sort of challenge, if you will, for new members. But you've passed with flying colors. Barely a scratch on you. I'm impressed, lass."

"New members?"

"For the Theives' Guild." He said, and gestured to a nearby table, "Have a seat. I'll get you a drink and we'll talk business."

Though she was still irritated, more so now because she could not seem to maintain a good mad in this man's presence, she did as he bid, choosing the seat with her back against a solid surface. An older man looked up from his meal and ale across the way, regarding her. She frowned, and he winked at her and went back to eating, smiling about some private thought. Her hand moved closer to the dagger at her hip.

Brynjolf returned a moment later, deposited a bottle of golden-colored mead in front of her and took the seat across from her. The top was still sealed with wax, she quickly noticed, and glancing up she caught a glimmer in the other thief's eye that told her had left it that way for a reason. Sighing, she broke the plug, and tasted it. The sickly-sweet taste of it was not bad, much better than the rotten wheat flavor of Imperial beer, though she had never been fond of drink in general.

"Now, then, lass. You have questions, I'm sure."

"What is all this about? Why me?" she asked.

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, studying her. She didn't know whether she wanted to punch that knowing smirk off his face or just sit and look at him for awhile. He was, she thought, one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Whenever she was near him, her thoughts got all confused and garbled, and that was dangerous.

"We need new blood in the Guild. Thieves with sharp skills and larceny in their blood. Like you."

"I gave that life up, I don't want it back again."

"If that was so, lass, you wouldn't be here." Brynjolf replied, casually, and leaned forward a little, "You need something. Everyone does. Tell me and let's see what the Guild can do for you. Let's help each other."

She paused for a long moment and then looked him dead in the eyes.

"I want to disappear. I want to find some place where no one of import ever goes, and I want to live out the rest of my life nice and comfortable and unnoticed. Only I need the coin to set it up, and I can't wait months to earn it."

"That is certainly doable." He said, considering, "A few high-profile jobs, and you could set yourself up comfortably anywhere in Skyrim. If you're skilled enough. We don't hand the big jobs to just anyone."

"I killed a bloody dragon a couple weeks ago." She replied, acidly, "What do _you_ think?"

He laughed then and raised his mead to her.

"A fair point." He conceded, "But it's the subtle arts we need. We don't do a lot of killing here, it's not in our charter. That's the Dark Brotherhood's game. We work in clever fingers and silent feet and convincing lies. I'm sure that you're more than capable, but…I need a little more proof. To demonstrate to the Guildmaster that my faith in you is justified."

_Now, we're getting to the meat of it_, she thought.

"What do you want me to do?"

"There are a few merchants in town who are behind on their protection fees." He said, "I want you to show them the error of their ways and collect the debt. I have a list for you here, as well as some tips on how to go about…persuading…each of them if necessary."

She took the list and scanned it before tucking it into her beltpouch.

"Right. I'll get on that tomorrow when I'm finish at the smithy."

"Good." He said, and raised his mead in toast to her, "Do me proud, lass, and meet me here when you're done. I look forward to it."

There was something in the way he phrased the last words, something in his eyes, that seemed to hint at a double meaning, but she forced herself to down the last of the mead and take her leave. The guard scowled at her as she left, but she ignored him, her head too full of other thoughts.

She could still bow out, but part of her knew that she wouldn't. The secret excitement of it all was starting to come back to her, which she found both intoxicating and unsettling. If you were truly good at something, her brother had said once, you could never really escape it. It would come looking for you. And he was right, the life had found her again, whether she wanted it or not. The only problem was knowing when to quit, and she had learned that lesson all too well already. She would not make the same mistakes this time.

The night sky blazed with eerie lights as she made her way back to the smithy. Balimund had given her the spare key to let herself back in with. The memory of it pricked her a little bit. She had told him she was going out for a walk and possibly a drink. Not really a lie, but not the truth either. Since her parents had died and everything had gone to Oblivion, she had not spared much of a thought for lying to people when the need arose, but she didn't like lying to the smith. Troubled, she latched the door behind her and crept into the small bedroom off of the main room. She could hear Balimund's soft snores on the otherside of the wall as she undressed and slid underneath the furs. The sound was oddly comforting, a reminder of safety, and it allowed her mind to settle enough to drift off into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
